happens to look like you ."
Ordinarily, her straight-forward way of putting things was admirable. For a reason he couldn't explain, the way she'd put that rattled him.
As they'd left the docks, Jake told himself if she didn't ask about what happened, he wouldn't volunteer any information. But a nagging voice inside him kept saying, you know she will, Jake ole boy. The only surprise, really, was that it had taken this long. He'd known full well that, as she sat there beside him, fidgeting with her purse and fiddling with her hat, she'd been reliving the scene, word for word. And he'd known why:
Bess didn't want to believe he'd done anything so contemptible as to take a man's life. It was part of her character to look for even the dimmest glimmer of good in every situation, in every person . Her sighs, her shrugs, the nervous toe-tapping, Jake realized, were evidence that she was building a case, a defense of sorts, to excuse what he'd done...if indeed he'd done it.
Too bad you weren't in the courtroom that day, Bess! he told her silently. Things might have turned out a mite different, with you on my side....
Th e voice of reason that lived in his head had saved his hide a time or two, because he'd had the good sense to heed it. He should have listened to it earlier, because if he had, he'd have come up with a story that would satisfy her, an explanation that would ease her mind and soothe her fears. Not knowing for sure if he'd killed a man or not was driving her to distraction.
"Well...?" she said, interrupting his reverie.
Part of him wanted to stop the wagon, right there in the middle of the road, tell her the whole ugly story. She deserved to hear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. Maybe, if he fessed up, he'd find out it didn't matter one whit to Bess that somewhere, far from this idyllic place, a judge and jury had branded him a murderer and a thief. Knowing her, once he'd told his sordid story, she might just wrap her arms around him and insist he couldn't possibly have done harm to another human being.
But the lone, dark-spirit part of him warned him never to tell her the truth. Because what if, after everything was out in the open, instead of acceptance and understanding, he saw fear—or worse, disgust—in those big brown eyes? It would cut right to the bone, that's what. He'd survived snakebites and gunshots and a knifing, but Jake didn't believe any of those wounds had hurt half as much as Bess's rejection would.
"Men amaze me sometimes," she huffed, turning slightly on the seat to face him. "You can be such a gentle man, Jake. But if looks could kill, that Texan would be stone cold dead right now."
"Gentle? Me? You don't really think that...." His voice was so soft, he wondered if she'd heard his question.
Bess rested her hand on his forearm. "No. No, I guess not."
He frowned, because her admission hurt.
"I don't think you're gentle, I have proof that you are. Lots of it. What you did for Matthew, for starters...."
His heart swelled with relief and gratitude , a surprise in itself, under the circumstances. "Oh. That." He shrugged. "I just did what any man would have."
She squeezed his forearm. "Tell me about it, Jake."
He didn't answer.
"Jake," she huffed. "What about what that man said!"
He might have done it, then and there, if only he'd known where to begin.
"So, did you?"
"Did I what?"
Another sigh. "Have anything to do with that murder in Lubbock!" She paused, then added, "Does he have you mixed up with some other Texan? Or...or...."
Her voice trailed off, and he thanked God for that small blessing. Jake tilted his face toward the sky and prayed for the strength to ask her to drop the subject, to simply trust him. Because her line of questioning made him feel like he was back in Texas on the witness stand, listening to the non-stop inquisition of the state's attorney. For the first time since he'd met her, Jake wished Bess was a mite dumber. Grinning and frowning at the same
Ordinarily, her straight-forward way of putting things was admirable. For a reason he couldn't explain, the way she'd put that rattled him.
As they'd left the docks, Jake told himself if she didn't ask about what happened, he wouldn't volunteer any information. But a nagging voice inside him kept saying, you know she will, Jake ole boy. The only surprise, really, was that it had taken this long. He'd known full well that, as she sat there beside him, fidgeting with her purse and fiddling with her hat, she'd been reliving the scene, word for word. And he'd known why:
Bess didn't want to believe he'd done anything so contemptible as to take a man's life. It was part of her character to look for even the dimmest glimmer of good in every situation, in every person . Her sighs, her shrugs, the nervous toe-tapping, Jake realized, were evidence that she was building a case, a defense of sorts, to excuse what he'd done...if indeed he'd done it.
Too bad you weren't in the courtroom that day, Bess! he told her silently. Things might have turned out a mite different, with you on my side....
Th e voice of reason that lived in his head had saved his hide a time or two, because he'd had the good sense to heed it. He should have listened to it earlier, because if he had, he'd have come up with a story that would satisfy her, an explanation that would ease her mind and soothe her fears. Not knowing for sure if he'd killed a man or not was driving her to distraction.
"Well...?" she said, interrupting his reverie.
Part of him wanted to stop the wagon, right there in the middle of the road, tell her the whole ugly story. She deserved to hear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. Maybe, if he fessed up, he'd find out it didn't matter one whit to Bess that somewhere, far from this idyllic place, a judge and jury had branded him a murderer and a thief. Knowing her, once he'd told his sordid story, she might just wrap her arms around him and insist he couldn't possibly have done harm to another human being.
But the lone, dark-spirit part of him warned him never to tell her the truth. Because what if, after everything was out in the open, instead of acceptance and understanding, he saw fear—or worse, disgust—in those big brown eyes? It would cut right to the bone, that's what. He'd survived snakebites and gunshots and a knifing, but Jake didn't believe any of those wounds had hurt half as much as Bess's rejection would.
"Men amaze me sometimes," she huffed, turning slightly on the seat to face him. "You can be such a gentle man, Jake. But if looks could kill, that Texan would be stone cold dead right now."
"Gentle? Me? You don't really think that...." His voice was so soft, he wondered if she'd heard his question.
Bess rested her hand on his forearm. "No. No, I guess not."
He frowned, because her admission hurt.
"I don't think you're gentle, I have proof that you are. Lots of it. What you did for Matthew, for starters...."
His heart swelled with relief and gratitude , a surprise in itself, under the circumstances. "Oh. That." He shrugged. "I just did what any man would have."
She squeezed his forearm. "Tell me about it, Jake."
He didn't answer.
"Jake," she huffed. "What about what that man said!"
He might have done it, then and there, if only he'd known where to begin.
"So, did you?"
"Did I what?"
Another sigh. "Have anything to do with that murder in Lubbock!" She paused, then added, "Does he have you mixed up with some other Texan? Or...or...."
Her voice trailed off, and he thanked God for that small blessing. Jake tilted his face toward the sky and prayed for the strength to ask her to drop the subject, to simply trust him. Because her line of questioning made him feel like he was back in Texas on the witness stand, listening to the non-stop inquisition of the state's attorney. For the first time since he'd met her, Jake wished Bess was a mite dumber. Grinning and frowning at the same
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